Musical Differences
by AnorexicWalrus
Summary: Alfred F. Jones is an aspiring musician in need of some inspiration. That inspiration comes to him in the form of a man named Arthur Kirkland.
1. Chapter 1

**Musical Differences**

**Chapter 1**

Alfred exhaled as he strummed his pencil against the table, trying to tap out a beat as he stared blankly at the equally blank music sheet before him. The empty black staves were taunting him mercilessly, and he longed to scribble all over them with quavers and minims, but that was like considering throwing a comeback at a bully when you had no idea what to say.

Alfred exhaled again, more heavily this time, as he dropped the pencil on the desk, not minding when it bounced off onto the floor upon impact, and sidled away from the foreboding desk to spin around in his chair for a bit. He produced a gust of wind as he spun, and his room with the carpet covered in layers of dirty clothes and screwed up sheet music and the video games piled upon the DVDs on the shelf by the small screen TV were a blur, like the cars that raced by in the streets of London at night, pumping out their loud music, acting a bit like an ice cream van that had nothing to offer. Alfred remembered why he had bought a spinning chair as he embraced the sensation of artificial wind blowing through his golden locks. He smiled and closed his eyes for a moment, imagining that he was flying through the clouds, like Superman would. He was soon frowning again though as he remembered how much this chair had cost him. Not that he was complaining – it was totally worth it – but he wished he had been more careful with his money, for now he barely had any left in his account.

Alfred stopped spinning, and although his eyes were still swivelling around in his head he attempted to gaze at the photograph above his desk from behind silver-framed glasses. The photograph was a picture of him, his brother and his parents back in Washington DC, smiling cheerily underneath the blue sky. Alfred smiled in return at the familiar faces in the image, with a small tingle of home-sickness resonating through him like when you plucked the lowest string of an acoustic and let it resound.

That picture was taken around the time when Alfred managed to see his dream framed in his mind. He longed to become a musician, and a legendary one at that. He admitted that he had a bit of a hero complex, and he hoped that one day his songs would be the sort that saved people from such things as suicides and depression. He longed to be a thriving musician in the United Kingdom though, where all his favourite musicians were – the best of the best. He would surely become one of the greats if he started out in the United Kingdom, right? Maybe he'd even meet one or two of the people he admired, and they could share with him some wise words and teach him some musical magic. And so, with his idealistic imagination, Alfred pulled out thousands that he had saved in his bank account, bid his dear friends and family farewell, and headed to the United Kingdom – headed to the top.

Alfred thought that his music would be acknowledged very quickly, and soon he would gain all his lost money back and more. However, after two years of living in London and busking in the bustling streets every other day, Alfred was beginning to regret his decision. He still was not a star, he still was not a musical hero, and he was still swimming in debt. Alfred spun round in his chair again, slowly this time, taking in all the grubby details of the apartment which was really all he could afford. The paint was peeling in some places, and there was damp and mould in the corner of others. He didn't have much furniture, and a few of the furnishings, like his bedside table and the chair in his bedroom, were actually wooden crates and boxes.

However, just because some of his furniture was made of boxes, doesn't mean he should stay boxed up in this mangy apartment. Alfred, despite the tough time he was going through, still had hope that someday soon his big break would come. He'd write an awesome song, it'd become an awesome hit, he'd gain awesome fans, he'd play at awesome venues and arenas, he'd gain awesome money and feel awesome when he paid off his not-so-awesome bills. But to do that he needed inspiration – song inspiration – so he got up from his chair, grabbed his keys, phone and wallet and plunged them into his jacket pocket as he took one last look around the apartment and sneered at the offending music sheet on his desk before heading out.

* * *

><p>Alfred had at first been excited about moving to London. All his friends that had been there for a vacation had told him that it was very beautiful and very lively. Upon arriving, Alfred realised that they were right. The architecture was astounding – it was as if the Londoners were OCD, and so, every building, every brick, every window pane, every roof tile, and every door and its frame had to be perfectly symmetrical and even in height and width. Not that he was complaining – it was pretty – but it could also get a bit boring. None of the buildings differed – none of them had a unique feature different from the rest. You could walk past a building and feel like you walked past it just a while back because all of them are so similar, with their tones and hues and saturations of light grey to dark grey. There were tiny inklings of colours on the frames of doors and windows and on the vehicles blazing the streets, but nothing that could lift the stream of charcoal colours flowing through the city like an over-repetitive beat.<p>

Alfred sighed. This scenery was no good – it only made him want to write morbid songs, and morbid songs weren't going to cheer anybody up, or save them_. _Alfred wished he had looked up London on Google images before going there. That way, maybe he would have realised how grim looking it is and decided to move somewhere else instead. Spain perhaps? Playing acoustic in the warm evenings of Spain might have been nice. But he wasn't in Spain. He was here, shivering in the cold late afternoon of London, getting pushed and shoved by the sea of people flittering in the opposite direction, and he had no way out of this hectic city.

He wriggled his way out of the crowd as they rushed to the London underground, on their way to slave away at their work until evening. However, Alfred couldn't feel sympathetic towards them. At least _they _were making money – he barely made a cent. He made about £70 a week busking, and if he had a pub to play at he might even make £100, but that was barely enough to pay for his apartment. Luckily for him, the landlord, Gilbert, was pretty chill about it and let him off with the rent as long as Alfred remained his drinking buddy. Alfred didn't much like alcohol, but he'd do anything to keep Gilbert from turning on him.

Alfred looked through the window he had pressed himself against to get away from the crowd, his expression changing to pure bliss when he realised it was a coffee shop. If he falls into no other American stereotype, he'd definitely fall into the coffee-loving one. In fact, searching around the streets of London for inspiration was hard work, right? So maybe he could just rest in here for a bit.

Alfred didn't need to convince himself further. He was inside that shop faster than a badass guitar riff. He was greeted by a cashier with prim hair in a bun an a wide smile, her uniform tucked in appropriately, and Alfred suddenly felt a little conscious of his untamed bed hair and sluggish outfit, but he didn't let it show as he ordered a cappuccino and took out his wallet.

As the cashier was getting his beverage, he let his eyes rove around the shop. It was quaint, to say the least. The entire room smelt of coffee beans and fresh pastries, and an empty ambiance resonated throughout the wooden beams and steel piping. A majority of the red plush chairs scattered upon the green carpet remained untaken, only a few being sat in by such people as a middle-aged woman daintily sipping at her black coffee as she gently pushed her baby 's pram to and fro, lulling it to stay silent during her break. On the table opposite hers was a classic old man – a pipe in his mouth and a newspaper in his hand whilst a doughnut rested in his other. Chocolate smeared across his moustache as he took a bite, but he was too absorbed by his article to bother fussing with it. And then Alfred looked at the final room occupant, alone in the corner. He was a young man, by the looks of it, wearing a green sweater vest and red tie over a cream blouse. His slim legs clothed in black trousers were crossed, and one of his arms was supporting a book whilst the other supported his face, as if he himself were one of the fine structures of London. His face sported a humorously thick pair of eyebrows, but such eyebrows framed the most dazzling green eyes above a thin line of plush pink lips. In other words, he was hot.

"Your cappuccino, sir."

Alfred was stirred from his captivation by the cashier's voice, and he flustered about madly with a red hue to his cheeks. "Y-yeah, sorry!" he spluttered, quickly grabbing his hot mug and practically crab-walking away from the counter, garnering a chuckle from the cashier.

Alfred stopped flustering like a pigeon when the woman stopped watching him, and he breathed out heavily, trying to expel the embarrassment from his system. He looked up at the young man in the corner again, watching him as the man licked his thumb and used it to turn the page of the book in his hands. Alfred then looked all around the room, at the variety of empty chairs for him to choose from. He looked back to the man's table after browsing the room, taken by that rather empty seat opposite him. It felt like the red material stretched across the mahogany frame was calling to him to sit there. Alfred scanned the room one last time, weighing up his options, before gulping down his nerves and proceeding towards the corner.

The young man looked up from his page as Alfred sat down opposite him, smiling sheepishly. Those green eyes then swivelled around the shop before focusing on Alfred again. And then that thin line of lips broke as he opened his mouth.

"You do realise there are empty tables all throughout this room, right?"

Alfred felt like he had been stung by a bee. What a cruel opening line.

"Yeah, I'm not stupid or nothing." he replied, maintaining his smile.

"Of course," the man drawled, "that must be why you used a double negative just now."

Alfred laughed nervously as the man returned to his book, _Sherlock Holmes_. Alfred almost regretted sitting at this man's table. Why were Londoners so rude? Or maybe this man was just shy? Yeah, that must be it. Alfred decided to keep pushing at the man to open up. Maybe it would even be a glorious moment? Like a blooming flower!

"So, you like Sherlock?" he asked, leaning over to get a good look at the black ink printed across the yellowing pages.

"No, I hate him."

"Oh." Alfred bit his lip and leant back again, wallowing in his seat. _If you don't like it then why are you reading it_, he thought.

The man looked up at Alfred again, and sighed in exasperation, "Don't look so glum. I was obviously being sarcastic. Why would I read a series I didn't like?"

Alfred blushed again, "O-oh, right! Ha, I was totally thinking the same thing! Crazy, right?" All the man responded with was a half-hearted hum before he turned another page, his green orbs following the cascading of the paper as it settled onto the pile of already-read pages. "Ahem," Alfred coughed, "this is the part where you continue the conversation."

The man looked up once again, "Why?"

"Because…that's what people do when they're beside each other. They talk."

The man paused for a moment, staring at Alfred – staring him down – before putting his book down on the table, neatly pushing it to the side (Yup, Londoners were definitely OCD) before using both his hands to support his face. "First of all, I was not prepared to sit by _anybody_. I came to this corner solely to be alone, and so, it was not me that started this conversation – I thought that my dissolving into the corner tactic would tell people to piss off. Unfortunately, it seems like such a tactic doesn't work on Americans seeing as you have not only come over here to sit opposite me, but you have initiated the conversation. Do you hear me? _You_ initiated this, and I was dragged along for the ride. Now, if it is a conversation you are looking for then bugger off over there to that old fellow – I'm sure he has some war stories to _enthral _you with."

Alfred stared back at him, flabbergasted. This man, though beautiful, was certainly one of the venomous types – like a snake rhythmically sliding flawlessly through the grass as it cornered its prey. The man went back to his book now, probably hoping that this would be the end of it, but Alfred just grinned widely, like a lion cornering the snake. He liked them feisty.

Alfred pushed his hand into the young man's face, chuckling as the dusty-blonde leant back away from the offending hand. "I'm Alfred. Nice to meet you."

The man frowned, "Didn't you listen to anything that I just said?"

"Meh, I zoned in and out of the speech."

The man grimaced at first, but he took the offered hand in the end and shook it lightly, "Arthur Kirkland."

"Arthur Kirkland." Alfred repeated as he shook his hand. He was surprised at how soft and warm Arthur's hand was, but he enjoyed the sensation all the same. "You're really, really British, man."

"Really?" Arthur replied sarcastically, "I hadn't noticed."

Alfred laughed, "And you're funny too."

"Cheers." Arthur grunted, lifting up his cup of tea to take a sip of the warm liquid.

"Hey, is that leaf water?" Alfred grimaced, leaning back to drink his cappuccino.

"No, it's tea."

"Yup," Alfred sang, "leaf water." Arthur groaned at this, wondering what had possessed him to acknowledge the presence of this fool. _Now _look what he had gotten himself into.

"So," Alfred began, resting his head in his hands like Arthur, "what are you doing with your life?"

Arthur leant back as Alfred leant forwards, wiping crumbs off of his knee as he did, "English student."

"Oh, wow," Alfred gasped, "you must be super smart then, right?"

"I guess you could say that." Arthur coughed, quite uncomfortable with someone gazing at him with such admiration in their eyes, although he couldn't say that he didn't _like _the feeling of it, "As for you?"

"Musician!" Alfred replied, beaming across at Arthur as he played an air guitar, "Well, I hope to be someday."

Arthur hummed, considering Alfred's ambitions. "And until then? What are you currently doing?"

"Uh…" Alfred slumped in his seat again, looking down at the table with its age-old stains, "…Absolutely nothing. I just busk all the time to get by."

"Oh, your parents must be so proud." Arthur smirked.

"You bet they are!" Alfred practically glowed, not at all noticing Arthur's sarcasm, "And my bro too!"

"Oh, I'm so bloody happy for you."

"_Cheers_!" Alfred imitated Arthur's accent, laughing as the Briton scowled.

"That was a terrible mockery."

"Maybe it wasn't supposed to be good." Alfred winked and stuck his tongue out mischievously to the side. Arthur just rolled his eyes, but then he lifted his wristwatch up to his line of sight and he breathed out as he got up from his seat, picking up his book and turning to the American staring after him in awe, "I think that's enough talking for today."

Alfred frowned and furrowed his brow. He wasn't letting Arthur go just like that. He didn't know why, and he didn't really care why, but he found Arthur to be such an interesting being. He was like the other Londoners, but different. If only he could know more about him and find out what made him tick. Such a striving was probably what made Alfred get up from the table as well, leaving his half-finished cappuccino as he briskly skipped forwards to keep up with the retreating Briton.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes: OMG, WHY AM I WRITING THIS WHEN I ALREADY HAVE SO MUCH TO DO, WTF, I'M AN IDIOT, WHAT IS THIS, HOW AM I GOING TO DO THIS, I CANNOT EVEN, FFFFFFUUUUU-<br>Okay, rant over. Anyway, despite already having another story going on (Of Books and Beverages) I could not resist getting to writing this idea straight after it came into my mind. And what's more, I'm actually more confident about writing this one than OBAB because I've actually planned this one out (seriously, I've planned out all the content and what's happening in what chapter. I've even prepared the epilogue). My writing isn't very good, and I struggle to write stories with chapters (I'm better at one-shots) without repeating myself, but I shall try my best, and I hope those that become compelled to follow this story (if _anyone _does) will manage to put the terrible writing aside and enjoy reading on as Alfred and Arthur become drawn to each other via the element of music, despite their differences.  
>Critique is welcomed, comments are appreciated!<br>Thank you and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Alfred, Arthur and Gilbert belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**AnorexicWalrus~**


	2. Chapter 2

**Musical Differences**

**Chapter 2**

Alfred had to supress a triumphant laugh as he caught up with the retreating Briton, "For today? So does that mean we can talk tomorrow?"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Arthur scoffed, "We're probably never going to see each other again."

"It doesn't have to be that way." Alfred pouted, trying to keep up with Arthur's fast walking pace (Londoners sure were fast), "We can meet again sometime, right?"

"Wrong." Arthur frowned, "I have far too busy of a lifestyle to have people like you in it."

"Well you seemed to have plenty of time to chill at the coffee shop." Alfred whined, "You could set that time aside for me."

"I've only just met you!" Arthur growled, "Why, oh why would I want to set time aside for an absolute stranger?"

"Not _absolute_! You know my name and I know yours."

"Yes, but that's all. I also know the name of the cashier at the shop because I read it on her name tag. That doesn't mean she's any less of a stranger."

"But you also know what I aim to be in life, and I've got a general idea of what you want to be! Something to do with Englishness. Your dream ain't far off now though – you're already English, so…" Arthur spun round then, glowering at Alfred, stopping the American in his tracks.

"Stop talking bullshit!"

Alfred stared after Arthur as the man continued on his way, wondering how someone so young could be so cranky. But then he grinned. An unexplainable grin. He himself didn't understand it, but he started up again, pursuing the Briton, though it took him a while to catch up (Arthur could over a lot of distance in a short while).

"I saw a bull once. It was huge!"

"What part of "stop talking bullshit" didn't you understand?"

"Oh, I understood it, but, see, you mentioned a bull, and I've seen a bull, so I thought I'd tell you. It's how you keep conversations going. Smart, huh?"

"No! Not smart! Moronic!" Arthur glared, "What possessed you to start talking about a bull? Honestly!"

"You started it!" Alfred pouted, now skipping rather than walking as he followed Arthur home.

Arthur clicked his tongue and increased his pace, "Whatever! Just quit following me!"

"I'm not _following _you!" Alfred objected, his cowlick bouncing about on his head as he tried to keep up with Arthur.

"Then what do you call this?" Arthur watched the skipping movements of the American beside him, becoming slightly pissed off with it all. What was he, seventeen? Eighteen? And yet he was acting like a five year old.

"This is called _escorting_!" Alfred's smile radiated like the sun which was currently drooping lower and lower in the sky as it indecisively changed from blue to green, to yellow to orange, finally settling on red, "There's a difference."

Arthur almost laughed in hysterics, "I don't need escorting! I'm not a woman, you know."

"Well you sure fooled me." Arthur stared daggers at Alfred, and Alfred held his hands up in defence, "Hey, I was joking! Joking! You're as manly as they come, okay?" Alfred felt comfortable enough to relax and return his hands to his pockets as Arthur grunted and continued surging forwards through the darkening street, "Still, handsome guys like you shouldn't be walking home alone at this time."

"H-handsome?" Arthur stuttered, "What are you-…You're insane!"

"And you're rude." Alfred giggled. Arthur groaned. He had _never _come across anyone like Alfred, and he felt strangely proud of himself for having avoided such people for so long. Unfortunately, his luck seemed to have run out. Maybe he'd be experiencing more of these types of people now? _Oh, God, no!_

Arthur tried to ignore Alfred as the idiot kept babbling to him throughout the whole walk home about useless things. Honestly, he said the stupidest things as he went on and on about British music and American music, American food portions and British food portions, and the blandness of British food and asking _"is it pronounced "s-con-s" or "s-cone-s"?" _Arthur had never been happier to see his front door as he approached the green rectangle of wood – a barrier to keep Arthur in and people like Alfred out.

Arthur couldn't help smiling triumphantly as he came to a halt at the porch and turned to Alfred, "Well, I guess this is where we part ways. _Devastating _as it is."

Alfred came to a halt too and nodded, "Yeah, it is pretty sad. In that case, can I have your number?"

Arthur mock-contemplated it for a moment, using one hand to rub his chin thoughtfully and the other to slowly open the door so that he could slide in. When he was safely inside the entrance he dropped the act and smiled wickedly at the American waiting in anticipation.

"No."

Alfred winced as the door was slammed in his face, and he stepped back, bewildered, almost falling off of the porch. He breathed out in amazement as he readjusted his lopsided glasses, and although most people would frown under such circumstances (and maybe even cry if they were really touchy) Alfred merely grinned once more. He may not have gotten Arthur's number, but he definitely got his address. He continued grinning, even humming jovially, as he practically skipped home.

And then his cerulean eyes opened wide in realisation.

He was humming. He was humming a new tune. And he liked the sound of it. His cheeks would surely rip off if he smiled anymore then he already was, but he couldn't help it. He had a beat – a _new _beat – and it was pretty damn catchy, if he did say so himself.

The first thing Alfred did when he got home was laugh at the offending music sheet smugly as he scrawled his new tune across the staves. He couldn't believe it – two years of searching for inspiration in London, and he had found it inside a coffee shop, in the form of a man called Arthur Kirkland. He thought about that one more time.

_Arthur Kirkland_ had given him inspiration.  
>Arthur Kirkland had given <em>him <em>inspiration.  
>Arthur Kirkland <em>had <em>given him inspiration.  
>Arthur Kirkland had <em>given <em>him inspiration.  
>Arthur Kirkland had given him <em>inspiration.<em>

He tried and tried to wrap it around his mind, like bandaging a wound or securing bubble wrap, as if thinking it enough times would really allow it to sink in and allow him to make sense of it, but he simply couldn't. Joy burst forth from him though, and butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he realised he had fought against the empty staves, with Arthur being the Robin to his Batman, and together they had conquered. He didn't know exactly what it all _meant_, and the butterflies continued to fly within him, excited. He almost cried out of finally lifting his burden of exasperating _nothingness _when it came to writing music, but he was a hero, and they didn't cry, unless, you know, it was manly tears.

Alfred looked out of his window at the black canvas of the sky dotted with stars that winked at him. He would have winked back, were it not for the fact that they were stars. Instead he began to think of lyrics – you couldn't sell a tune on your own. Unless you were like one of those dudes that made those relaxing CDs with sounds of Japanese forests and shit in them. But he hadn't recorded a Japanese forest (he had a Japanese friend he could record, but would _The Sounds of Kiku Honda_ really sell?), so lyrics it was!

Alfred was back to tapping his pencil against the desk, his face scrunching up in concentration. Where did his inspiration go? Just before, thanks to Arthur, some new feelings were evoked (excitement possibly, what with seeing a new face?) and that caused him to hum something new and expressive, and he really liked it. Maybe he just needed to see Arthur again for that inspiration again? Tomorrow, perhaps?

_Tomorrow…_

Alfred blinked. Wait, was this…the beginning of…?

_Tomorrow, tomorrow;  
>Until then I'll drown in sorrow,<br>For I can't see your face  
>Before the morrow.<em>

Yes! Yes, it did seem to be so! Alfred ecstatically jotted down the lyrics below the staves, simply not _caring _about his messy scrawl because it had been a while since he had been able to write any lyrics down, and he just wished for those butterflies to get out of his chest for they were causing some discomfort in his chest – discomfort he was comfortable with, if that even made any sense.

_Tomorrow, tomorrow  
>The butterflies will burst forth,<br>And I'll stay beside you  
>And your beauty henceforth.<em>

Alfred was unsure of whether these lyrics were any good as he hurriedly made note of them, but, heck, anything was better than nothing, right?

He looked out of the window again, and this time he winked back at the stars, even though they were listless balls of gas burning billions of miles away. He nodded his head at them too, telling them to hurry on, ushering them away so that the sun could stretch his rays and come back, bringing tomorrow with it, when Alfred would assuredly see Arthur again, without a doubt.

* * *

><p>Arthur blinked more times than necessary as he stared at the American on his porch.<p>

"You didn't stay here all night, did you?" he asked nonchalantly as he strode straight past the man who had a discomfortingly cheery-yet-weary expression on his face. Arthur maintained the indifferent expression on his face although these circumstances were rather shocking. What if this Alfred (was that his name? Alfred?) really _did _spend all night on his porch? Was he homeless? Was he lost?

"Nah, I do have a home to go to, you know." Arthur found himself breathing a sigh of relief at this, "I just decided to come and meet you early before you set off."

"How did you even _know _I was setting off _anywhere _today?" Arthur, now assured that Alfred was neither homeless nor lost, started thinking about the worst case scenario for himself – a _stalker_!

"Intuition?" Alfred chuckled, but Arthur didn't laugh with him, "To be honest, I didn't. I just came here about two hours ago and I've been waiting ever since. The early bird catches the worm, you know?"

Arthur tried to push the fact that he had just been compared to a _worm _to the back of his mind as he checked his watch, "So that means…" he stopped dead there as he feared that maybe Alfred _was _a stalker, and a diligent one at that (although Arthur was unsure of whether to admire such diligence or not), "…you've been waiting here since _five in the morning_?"

"It would seem so." Alfred nodded, rocking on his heels, "How time flies when you're having fun."

"It didn't really fly, did it?"

"No, it was dead boring."

Arthur sighed, "I would have thought as much." He continued walking then, the American keeping step beside him, "But what I want to know is _why_? _Why_ did you wait so bloody long to catch me? Did I forget something yesterday? Did _you _forget something?" he grimaced, "It's rather creepy to be honest."

Alfred shook his head, "No, I think it's more like…" he looked up at the rays of the sun for a moment, the ones he had been wishing for hours prior and was now grateful for, "…I'm catching the worm."

"Remember how I told you yesterday that I wasn't a woman?" Arthur asked, earning a nod from Alfred, "I'm not a worm either."

Alfred laughed, "It's a metaphor, man. I thought _you _of all people would understand that since you're studying English and stuff."

"Of course I understand it!" Arthur sniffed, feeling his intelligence being a little berated, "I just find it _odd _is all. How on earth am I a worm for the early bird?"

Alfred shrugged, "I don't know."

Arthur sighed, focusing on the layers and layers of paved stone they walked upon, "To be honest, that doesn't surprise me. You don't seem like you know many things at all."

"Yeah, probably not." Alfred scratched at his neck, also gazing along the pathway before them, "But isn't life a learning curve? It'd be totally boring if we knew everything already, because then we'd see no need to experiment with or experience anything." he looked back down at the Englishman, who was gawping at him in bewilderment, "That would be dull, wouldn't it?"

Arthur stared back into those deep eyes of blue and swore he saw a flicker of hidden intelligence, like unknown life forms of the Atlantic skimming the sand at the deepest depths of the ocean, and he coughed to regain his composure. "That's an interesting notion, in its own way."

Alfred smiled and his cheeks pinked at the praise, and he gazed at the Briton in endearment, admiring the far-away look in those green orbs he possessed, wishing he knew what he was really _seeing _when he looked at something, for that in itself would probably be something so unique and inspiring and altogether wonderfully new to Alfred. His cheeks went pinker yet as Arthur turned to look up at the American beside him.

"What are _you _looking at?"

"N-nothing!" Alfred lied, quickly turning his head to the side to watch the frenzied thriving of the city around him, which, even with the sun gleaming upon the rows and multitudes of glimmering windows, was altogether a sad site in comparison to the man beside him.

"You can't be looking at nothing," Arthur chided, "there is always_ something_ to look at."

"Yeah, but it's not always _important_! Speaking of important, where are we going?" Alfred asked, rapidly changing the conversation before it could spiral out of his control.

"Well _I _was going to the public library." Arthur snorted, "I have no idea about you though."

"I'll go wherever you go." Alfred gazed earnestly at Arthur, causing the man to scoff.

"What are you, a puppy?" he asked, puckering his brow.

"I might be." Alfred winked and giggled, and Arthur clicked his tongue at the immaturity of it all.

"So I'm a womanly worm and you're a puppy now?" he shrugged his shoulders, "What an odd day, and it's still only the morning."

"Dude, you think _you're_ having an odd day?" Alfred raised his eyebrow, "_I'm _the one that didn't get to sleep until two in the morning, and then I made sure to wake up at four so I could get ready to see you at five or whatever."

"What on earth made you think I'd be up and about at five in the morning?"

Alfred shrugged again, "You looked like one of those early risers."

Arthur sighed, exasperated by how little he understood this man, "And what were you doing until two in the morning?"

"Writing a song." Alfred admitted guiltily, "I was kind of on a roll, and I got a bit carried away, so…"

Arthur hummed in response, not too interested by his excuses, "What was the song about?"

Alfred leant in towards Arthur, and the Briton failed to stifle a blush as those innocent blue eyes bore into him and Alfred raised a finger to his lips, "It's a secret."

Arthur decided that that was the best he was going to get out of the Alfred, and so, they continued onwards, making primarily pointless conversation and small-talk about those normal things like the weather, if such a conversation topic _was _normal. Arthur, despite excelling in English, didn't really know the _true_ definition of normal, and whether he was living it. However, one thing was for certain: not much about Alfred struck him as normal. In fact, he was rather abnormal. A lunatic. A lunatic stalker. A lunactic stalker of London who went around babbling rubbish. And what else was abnormal was that Arthur didn't run away from such a being.

* * *

><p>Arthur tried to focus on reading the Shakespearian masterpiece that was <em>Macbeth<em> – he _really did _– but there was no way he could pay attention to any of the witches' drivel when a certain pair of blue eyes were staring up at him, looking him over, checking him out, and all those other things that eyes did (apart from _undressing _him with those eyes, God forbid).

"Have I got something on my face?" Arthur finally gave up trying to read the passage after having had to re-read it about five times because whenever he read it he wasn't really absorbing the words and was instead taking in the gaze directed at him.

Alfred reached forward and picked a crumb of toast off of Arthur's cheek, with the Englishman's cheeks darkening in embarrassment, "Just that."

"Good," Arthur coughed, "and, uh…thank you…So now are you going to stop looking at me?"

Alfred shook his head, "There's nothing else to look at."

"Oh, there's plenty to look at in a library – books, words, people – unless you're not into book reading or people watching?"

"It's not that." Alfred titled his head and rested it upon his arm, continuing to stare at Arthur though despite his change of position, "It's just that there's nothing as interesting as you to look at."

Arthur guffawed, "Of course there is. Either go and look for a book or get away from me forever." He shooed the American away with his hand, turning back to _Macbeth_.

Arthur felt Alfred slowly get up beside him, and then he heard his footsteps fading away down a book aisle of some sort. He breathed out a sigh of relief and slumped in his seat. It felt good to relax, for he had been sitting so stiffly when Alfred's eyes were on him, afraid that the tiniest movement would make the man become judgemental of him. Were stalkers judgemental people though? Arthur neither knew nor took the time to care as he looked back at the drivel of text.

A little later, as Arthur looked up at the American coming back towards him, a book in tow, he felt rather miffed that the man hadn't followed the second option and got away from him forever. There was no way he was going to be able to focus on work if this man continued to stay beside him. Just the way Alfred merely ambled towards him seemed to grab Arthur's full attention. He was just one of those people that turned heads, he supposed.

"Dude, there was nothing good in the music section." Alfred breathed as he sat down in the seat beside Arthur now, "I found this super cool book over in the fiction section though." He laughed childishly as he raised _Harry Potter _up to Arthur's line of sight. Arthur smiled despite himself.

"I remember that – I studied that during my first year of English. Rowling's writing isn't all that good, to be honest. She kept repeating words."

"That may be so, but…" Alfred settled down beside Arthur and opened it up to the first page, admiring the black and white printed image of the gleaming crest of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, "…that doesn't really matter does it?" Arthur really _looked_ at Alfred then, and he saw that glimmer of intelligence once more, "Who cares_ how _it's written? All that matters is how it makes you _feel_." He looked up at Arthur, whom was still befuddled by the American, "Right?"

Arthur grunted and turned back to his studies, "I suppose so."

Alfred was quiet then, allowing Arthur to study – the only noises being the turning of pages on Alfred's behalf and the scribbling of a pen as Arthur noted similes and metaphors from the text. Still, Arthur continued to feel Alfred's eyes watching him every now and again, and he would be a liar if he didn't admit that sometimes his focus became trained on the man to his side.

* * *

><p>Arthur looked up at the clock on the wall, and then checked his own watch to ensure that it was right (he had always been overly-careful for no good reason like that), before sighing and stretching out, attracting the attention of Alfred, who was already a hundred or so pages into <em>Harry Potter<em>. Arthur looked at those questioning eyes with his own weary ones and decided to put the man out of his miserable guessing.

"It's already coming up to half one in the afternoon. I should probably go and get some lunch."

Alfred beamed, "I'll go with you!"

Arthur couldn't be arsed complaining as they both packed up and left the library as the sun continued to glimmer in the sky, odd as that was, since this was London they were dwelling in. The outskirts of the city, sure, but London with its qualities befitting that of a dull watercolour painting all the same.

"Where are we going for lunch?" Alfred asked, patting his stomach, "I'm starved."

_So he's one of those gluttonous Americans then_, Arthur thought, but kept such a thought for himself, "_I _am going home to eat. Since when did this become a "_we" _situation?"

"Dunno." Alfred replied, "But it's boring to eat alone."

"How do you know whether I'm eating alone?"

"I don't."

Arthur snorted, amused by this boy's "intuition". And so, as if Alfred had him on a leash, or as if he were a child scouring for entertainment, he was unconsciously dragged along by the prospect of such amusement.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes: Sorry, you don't need to tell me how long and boring this chapter is - I already know. But I guess I kind of rushed through it because I'm excited about the future chapters full of bonding and stuff.<br>As well as this, I am sorry for the lyrics. I am not a song writer - nor do I intend to be - so it's kind of ridiculous that I made Alfred aspire to be one. I guess in the spur of the moment he just came alive as I wrote the idea, and it was almost as if _I _wouldn't be writing this story _or _the songs and I could sit back whilst the characters sorted everything out themselves. Silly me! Get ready for terrible lyrics, yay~  
><strong>**Finally, I'm sorry if Arthur is confusing you - he's confusing me too. One minute he's bitchy, and then he's mildly nice, and then he's mildly bitchy, and then he's bitchy, and then he's mildly nice, and then...yeah, just, uh...pretend that Arthur is confused about his...uh...feelings about being...you know, almost forced to meet a new face, so...yeah, I don't know, guys. Go figure. Anyway, please don't lose faith in me, I hope to upload some fun chapters of Alfred and Arthur getting to know each other...kind of...I don't know, they...well, I don't want to spoil anything for you guys. Argh, just hang in there!  
><strong>**By the way, I'll be switching from Alfred's POV to Arthur's POV as it suits the story. Like, if Arthur has a secret then I'll use Alfred's POV to not give anything away, and if Alfred isn't doing anything interesting in the chapter then I'll switch to Arthur's POV, etc. And I won't be a daily or weekly uploader or whatever. I'll update this as it suits me. Sorry for any inconvenience!  
>Critique is welcomed, comments are appreciated!<br>Thank you and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Alfred, Arthur and Kiku belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**AnorexicWalrus~**


	3. Chapter 3

**Warning - please read: **Just a quick warning, that in the later part of this chapter there will be a song that I myself wrote. I advise you not to read it, for it is really, really, _really _bad and will ruin your enjoyment of the chapter (if you enjoy it at all). I just put it there because, hey, I needed to fill up space, and I struggled to write about a song that wasn't there...if you know what I mean. All you need to know is that the lyrics are (meant to be) lovely and tender, and it butters up Arthur, so...yeah...Avoid the song, people. Thanks for reading this, now proceed!

* * *

><p><strong>Musical Differences<strong>

**Chapter 3**

"So…" Arthur nodded at the building before them, "McDonald's?"

"Yup!" Alfred nodded too, at himself and his choice of restaurant, "McDonald's."

Arthur looked at him for a bit, but then turned to look again at the attention-seeking, big, yellow 'm' and the dull brown bricks framing the windows. In such wide windows Arthur could see people – mothers, daughters, fathers, sons – of all ages –children and adults alike – all filing into the restaurant which nobody really classed as a restaurant, all of them wanting for food to be hurriedly made with far too much salt on their chips and far too much fat in generally everything so that they could hurriedly shove it in their gobs when they weren't busy talking to others about meaningless things and then proceed to hurriedly leave the restaurant. Arthur didn't much like McDonald's. Not for the greasy food and equally greasy tables, or for having to queue with all kinds of people he didn't like, or for the rushed feel you felt when dining there, but primarily for the fact that the attention-seeking, big, yellow 'm' wasn't capitalised (or at least didn't look it).

Arthur begrudgingly made his way into the godforsaken building behind Alfred, not really knowing why. He could just bid the American and this American food industry goodbye, turn around, and walk out back to his house to enjoy a spot of tea and finger sandwiches. He could even sneak away from the possible-stalker and tip-toe across the greasy tiled floor of McDonald's, dodging the signs telling him to be careful and mind the slippery floor, and then scurry out of the door quickly. But he didn't. Instead, for no rhyme or reason, he found himself joining the queue alongside Alfred and listening as he decided between having a cola or a milkshake alongside his Big Mac.

"You could do with a little less feeding." Arthur scoffed aloud, thinking of the American stereotype where they were all fat, if not obese.

"No way, man!" Alfred had laughed at the comment, "I work out like a champion!"

Arthur contemplated this as they placed their order, and he wondered if Alfred managed to not follow the American stereotype and actually stay thin due to his stalking activities. Was stalking good for calorie loss? It did consist of a lot of walking and running around after your prey, so it was very active indeed. But then Arthur wondered why he was thinking of such things, and his thoughts drifted away like yesterday's newspaper in the wind.

Alfred went to sit at a window seat, dumping his overflowing tray of food (which, Arthur noted with disgust, was all for himself) on the table and beckoning Arthur over with a winning smile. Arthur eyed up the seat opposite for a moment, but then shrugged and sat down two tables away from the now mortified American. Just because Arthur went to lunch with him didn't mean he had to _have _lunch with him. Maybe if he finished his food faster than him too (which he probably would, seeing as all he had ordered was a small cheeseburger, small chips and a tea whilst Alfred had a whole tray of food) then he could quickly leave the "restaurant" before him and never have to dwell in his presence or wonder _why _he was dwelling in his presence. When he thought about it though, he hadn't done such dwelling voluntarily – Alfred had initiated it again.

Arthur flinched as a fry hit his head, and he turned to furrow his brows and snarl at the executor of the attack. Alfred ignored the daggers being glared at him and tried to usher Arthur over with a wave of his hand. Arthur merely unwrapped his cheeseburger, not paying attention. It was disgusting. The cheese was melting and oozing out over the side, as if it had once been a witch and then had water chucked on it, and the green lettuce leaves had been bombarded with mayonnaise and ketchup, all of it dripping out from the middle of the buns which were damp with grease. But his stomach rumbled, so he took a deep breath and took a bite out of the disgusting contents.

This time a ball of screwed-up paper hit him, and he again looked across at Alfred, who, despite his cheeks bulging like a hamster's as he chewed his food, had a distinguishable pleading look on his face. Arthur sighed, since this was probably not going to stop for a while, and moved closer by a table. Now there was a three foot gap between them, and Arthur raised his eyebrows at the American so as to ask _"Is this close enough?" _Alfred shook his head, crumbs flying around with the movement, and pointed at the seat across from him. Arthur held up his middle finger at him, earning a chuckle.

"There are kids around, Artie."

"That's not my name."

Alfred chuckled again as Arthur continued to force down the American cuisine. They sat eating in silence for a bit, with Alfred offering chips to the Englishman with salted fingers and Arthur declining every time. They continued like that until a girl approached them, fiddling with her red-ribbon bound dark pigtails and fluttering her eyelashes whilst her friend played with her own short blonde hair decorated with a purple ribbon.

"Um, excuse me," coughed the darker girl, "can we, um…sit here?" Arthur looked around at the restaurant. Despite it being full of people desperately trying to get their hands on some cuisine, a lot of those people were taking away rather than eating in, leaving many empty tables. So why did the girls choose here? He looked across at Alfred, who was smiling charmingly at the girls and nodding his head, "_Of course"_. The girls hastily whispered to one another as the darker girl pulled up the seat across from Alfred and the blonde was left with the seat across from Arthur. Now he knew why, as the darker girl leant forwards and offered her dainty hand to Alfred.

"Hi, I'm Sesel." Alfred wiped his salty fingers on his jeans before taking her hand, exclaiming _"how do you do"_, "And this is my friend, Lily. She's an exchange student from Liechtenstein. Exciting, huh?"

"Oh, totally!" Alfred replied, "That's that small place next to Switzerland, huh? Is the food nice there?" Arthur laughed silently, _Trust the American to think about food_. Lily just nodded her head, continuing to play with her blonde locks, her hands shaking nervously. Sesel laughed.

"Don't mind her; she's just a bit shy."

Alfred nodded in understanding, "I won't bite, hakuna matata!"

"Oh," squealed Sesel, "I love that Disney movie! Actually, my grandparents were from Africa, you know, where it's based. The island of Seychelles!"

"Seychelles? No offense, I've never heard of it. What's it like?"

"Oh, I went there just last summer! You see, it's a bit like…"

Arthur stopped listening to the conversation. It was just going to be mindless drivel from the mouth of another mindless girl. He was a bystander in that conversation – just an onlooker – for the only person she was focused on was Alfred, and it wasn't hard to see why, with his golden tan to match his golden hair, and his blue eyes glowing above his pearly white teeth. His colours were like that of the beaches Sesel was currently going on about.

Arthur looked across at Lily and felt sorry for her getting left behind in her shyness, and he offered his food to her. She squeaked in surprise as the cuisine was pushed towards her. "I don't really want it. Do you like this kind of food?"

Lily shakily nodded her head, like a bobbing-head ornament sitting in a moving car, "Y-yes, I don't mind it." He watched with a smile as she hesitantly nibbled a chip, a blush present on her face.

"So, how does it feel being in England? Feeling a bit of culture shock?"

She smiled warily back at him, "Oh, just a bit. See, the people act so different, and I'm a bit wary as to how to behave still. My brother was worried about me too…"

Arthur chuckled. "Just don't act like this buffoon, okay?" he said, gesturing to Alfred with his thumb. Another chip was thrown at his head, making Lily and Sesel laugh.

"You're just jealous because I'm awesomer than you!"

"At least I'm bloody literate." Arthur frowned, hurling the chip back at Alfred and smiling with sadistic glee as it bonked him on the nose.

"Hey! I'm literate!"

"Of course." Arthur breathed, "That must be why you said "awesomer" just now." Sesel and Lily continued to laugh as Alfred's face darkened under a blush.

"Not cool, man. Not cool."

"Yes, I agree, you're not cool, are you?"

Alfred pouted and went back to eating before he dug an even bigger grave for himself. Sesel turned her attention to Arthur now, seeing as he wasn't the moping one. "You two seem really close. How long have you been friends?"

Arthur looked at his watch, "Well…we've now known of each other for a few hours now."

"Really?" Sesel looked flabbergasted, "But you have such good chemistry!"

Arthur groaned, "Please don't say that. You'll get his hopes up." Lo and behold, Alfred's eyes were glimmering, and he was beaming as he looked from Sesel to Arthur and back.

"Do you really think that?" he asked, excitement evident in his tone, "There's really chemistry?"

"Well, I'm studying psychology, so…" she twiddled her fingers, half-nervous, half-delighted about all the attention on her, "…I think this is the sort of behaviour those with chemistry show to one another."

"Abusing each other with chips?" Arthur snorted, and she joined him, tittering.

"I suppose. It's more like you're showing your true self and letting loose. See, when you first met Lily you were being quite nice to her, right?" Arthur nodded, becoming enthralled by the process towards her conclusion, "Well, when…uh…" she turned to Alfred, "How did he act when he met you?"

Alfred sighed, waving a chip around as if hypnotising himself, "Arthur was super rude. He tried to tell me to go away."

Sesel nodded, "Isn't that interesting? How Arthur acts depending on the person? It could just be because of the difference in sex between Alfred and Lily, but it could in fact be that Arthur feels comfortable around you and is able to show his true colours."

Arthur coughed on a chip he had been eating, blushing because _that couldn't be right_! He looked across at Alfred, who in turn was looking at him, but he had a massive grin on his face. Arthur cringed. Lily tugged at Sesel's arm timidly, dragging the girl from her train of thought.

"Um, it's already time to go, so…"

Sesel looked at her watch and blinked in surprise, nodding. "Oh, right!" she rummaged around in her bag and pulled out a strip of notebook paper and a pen, quickly jotting her number down on it before handing it to Alfred. "Call me, kay?" She giggled as she ran off with Lily in tow, and Alfred waved at them, smiling nicely. Arthur chuckled lightly to himself, but Alfred heard anyway.

"What's so funny?" he asked, puckering his lips like a goldfish.

"Nothing, just thinking about how that must happen to you all the time."

"What happens?" Arthur nodded towards the retreating girls. Alfred pondered for a moment before a light bulb went off in his head, "Oh, that! Yeah, I'm a total lady-killer."

Arthur let out a _pffffft _and lobbed another chip at Alfred, "Yeah, right! Still, your girlfriend must get worried."

"Hakuna matata," Alfred smiled, trying to make a pyramid out of the ketchup sachets, "I don't have one."

Arthur paused. Normally these golden-boy types with muscles showing even underneath their shirts had a new girlfriend every other month, so he couldn't believe that this man had _none_. "Oh, I see. Just broke up, or got your eye on anyone?"

"Nah, I had a girlfriend back in D.C, but…things didn't really…work…"

"Oh." Arthur swallowed an overly-salty chip, "Sorry I asked."

"No, it's alright. I'm over it now."

"Yes. And quite a lucky escape for the girl, I must say." Arthur laughed at Alfred's offended face, though it didn't last long before Alfred was laughing with Arthur.

"Screw you, Arthur! What about _your _relationship status, _huh_?"

Arthur went to drink his tea, shrugging his shoulders silently, "Single. I don't really care about relationships. That's all there is to it."

Alfred must have realised that Arthur wasn't going to say much more on the subject, because he didn't continue to press on about it. In all honesty, Arthur did want a relationship in future, but he had learnt from past experiences that they could be very…_distracting_, to say the least, and so, he had vowed to not become involved with anyone until after he had finished his education. He was going to be diligent this time around! However, if he admitted that he would be looking for someone in future then he could imagine Alfred bringing an array of eligible bachelors and bachelorettes to his door (Alfred seemed the type to do something so barbaric), and he certainly wanted to avoid that. So he allowed for Alfred to go on about wooing people without much complaint.

* * *

><p>"That sure was fun, right?" Alfred asked as he strode beside Arthur.<p>

"Hmm? What was?"

"Don't play dumb!" Alfred pouted, "You know, hanging out together and stuff."

"Well, actually you kind of just followed me."

"Well who was the one who followed me to MickyD's?" Arthur flinched at that. He had indeed followed Alfred to McDonald's. And he had no excuse. So he just remained silent as they approached his door.

"We should do this again sometime." Alfred exclaimed, shoving his foot in between the frame and the door before Arthur could close it, "Maybe I could get your number this time."

Arthur snarled at Alfred as he freed his foot from being crushed by the door, "I'd rather not."

"Oh, _please_!" Alfred puckered his lips and fluttered his eyelashes, "Don't you remember? We have _chemistry_!"

The door was slammed in Alfred's face once again. He stood there a while longer, hoping that Arthur would open up again in a second and burst out, _"Of _course _we can exchange numbers! Oh, we're going to be _such _good friends!" _Alfred laughed at the image – he hadn't known Arthur for long, but he already knew that bursting through a door with a dopey smile on his face isn't something that the Briton would do, so he spun round and trudged off towards his own apartment. Besides, he needed to hurry home and write down the new lyrical ideas for his song he was working on. This day with Arthur had brought him more inspiration, much like he thought it would, and he would be damned if he forgot it all before he could get home and jot it all down.

* * *

><p>Arthur groaned as when he opened his front door it revealed Alfred on his porch once again, smiling innocently and rocking on his heels like a child waiting in anticipation for something fun. Arthur began to wonder if this was going to become routine.<p>

"How long have you been here this time?" Arthur sighed as he fiddled with his keys and locked the front door.

"Just half an hour." Alfred replied, continuing to rock back and forth, to and fro.

Arthur straightened out and raised an eyebrow at the childish American, "You know, if you don't stop this then I'm going to file a restraining order."

Alfred just laughed, "Why? We have fun!"

"No." Arthur frowned, "_You _have fun! I don't know what the bloody hell your deal is, but I have final exams to study for and I don't have time to be distracted by morons like you! I don't give a shit about _chemistry_ – I give a shit about English though, and you are not stopping me from studying! Now piss off before I report you."

Arthur glared at the stunned, no-longer-rocking American for a moment more, daring him to retaliate and warning him to back off, before storming off down the path. He did feel a little bad saying that to Alfred, because he was a nice guy really, but he was putting Arthur off his studies all the same, and Arthur refused to fail. He wouldn't fail again; not this time.

"Arthur!" Alfred called out behind his retreating form, "Arthur, wait, please! I can be quiet! I can be good! Come on, I waited half an hour for you – have a heart!"

"I don't care." Arthur huffed, powering ahead even faster, "Just leave me alone!"

Alfred just stopped and watched as Arthur disappeared into the distance. He frowned, _there goes my inspiration_.

* * *

><p>Arthur smiled as he stretched, admiring his pages and pages of quick notes about certain pieces of text. Yes, it was all going well. There was no stupid Alfred there to interrupt him. Hell, if he was lucky then he might never see that guy again, and he could go back to a normal life of solitude and education. Nothing good came from socialising – they could end up being the wrong sort. He had learnt this from his past. It was better to be alone – safer to be alone. This way he couldn't hurt anyone and no one could hurt him. He could quote <em>Hamlet<em> in peace, disturbing no one and having no one disturb him. It was bliss; it was what he was used to.

Arthur was happy to note as he packed up and left the library that there was no Alfred waiting for him still. Maybe he really had got the message; maybe Arthur really had managed to chase him away. He had done so cruelly, but sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind. He was a waste of Alfred's time, and Alfred was a waste of his, so what was the point? As he walked home and settled down at the kitchen table to sip tea he concluded that there was no point – never was and never would be. _Don't feel guilty; feel glad that you saved Alfred from a wasteful time_.

Arthur smiled as he sipped, because he was glad. As he sunk into his chair and breathed out contentedly the burden of guilt slipped from his shoulders and out of his mind, and he soon forgot about Alfred altogether.

* * *

><p>The next day Arthur managed to go through his usual routine with any interruptions. He had a silent walk to the library, a silent session of studying, a silent walk home, and a silent lunch followed by another silent study session, and then he just relaxed with a piping cup of tea and an interesting book in the evening before turning in to sleep. The next day held the same routine, and then the next, and then the next. Most people who have gotten bored of such repetition, but Arthur relished in it. He liked knowing the how, what and why of his day, and he disdained change.<p>

But change happened again anyway.

He was in the library, and he had stumbled across a word he had never come across before, thus didn't know the meaning of. Exhaling, he got up and out of his seat in search of a dictionary. What with having been in this library so much, it didn't take him long to find the right section. He brushed his fingertips across every weatherworn spine of every book, murmuring their names quickly and quietly to nobody but himself as he passed them, stopping however when he finally reached the dictionary. He grinned triumphantly, glad to be making progress, and pulled it out.

And then dropped it and shrieked as he was met with a pair of big, blue eyes.

"Alfred?"

"That's my name, don't wear it out." the American sheepishly chuckled from the other side of the shelf. Arthur, getting over his shock, picked up the dictionary and stormed round to join Alfred on the other side of the shelf where he folded his arms and glared at the man before him, whom was nervously rubbing his neck and blushing.

"Just what are you doing here?" Arthur snarled, and Alfred seemed to shrink under the Briton's rage.

"N-nothing, just, uh…" Alfred's eye swivelled all around, searching for an excuse no doubt, "…checking out books, y'know. Library and all, so…"

"But you told me you weren't the book type." Alfred visibly shrank again.

"I'm not, I'm not! But, uh…s-song material might be here, y'know."

Arthur hummed suspiciously, "And I suppose you'll find all that material in the section containing books about finance." He jerked his head at the F section they were stood in front of.

Alfred jolted and blushed more, "F-finance? Nah, I was looking at, uh…" he turned his attention to the bookshelf, searched madly for a moment, and then smiled shakily as he brought out a book on felines, "I was looking at material for cat songs. We all love cats! I already got a little something, uh…I love cats, yes I do! I love cats, so do you!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes at Alfred, "Do you honestly think I'm that stupid?"

Alfred stiffened for a moment, but then he sighed and put the book slowly back, "No. Sorry, I was here because…because I…and you were…but I don't mean…I was just-!"

"You were stalking me." Arthur finished for him, disapprovingly.

Alfred frowned and waved his hands about eccentrically, "N-no, I would never do that! I swear I wasn't!"

"Then why do you keep following me around?" Arthur whispered loudly, trying to repress his annoyance for the sake of the library's quietness, "I tell you to leave me alone, yet here you are!"

Alfred blushed redder yet and twiddled with his fingers, looking anywhere but at Arthur, "Because…because you…y-you give me…you give me inspiration for my songs!" he blurted.

There was a pregnant pause where Arthur just stared at Alfred, dumbfounded. But then he managed to speak up in the tone of surprise, "What?"

"I don't really get it either!" Alfred sighed, "But when I'm with you, ideas come to me, when I'm not with you, ideas stay away. And dude, I'm sorry for following you around, but I _need _these ideas, _big _time."

Arthur turned a light shade of pink, "You've been writing songs based on…time spent with…me?"

Alfred chuckled and scratched his cheek, "Well, I've just been focusing on one song." he grinned broadly then, "Do…do you wanna hear what I got so far?"

Arthur thought about it for a moment. On one hand, he had told Alfred to leave him alone so he could study, so really he should tell Alfred to piss off again (maybe file that restraining order for real) and get back to work – he wasn't holding the dictionary for pleasure reading after all. On the other hand, it wasn't often that anyone wrote a song based on being with him. Heck, no one had _ever _written a song concerning him, so maybe, just this once, it would be nice…

Arthur failed to repress a smirk, "Alright, impress me."

Alfred grinned widely, "Cool! I have my guitar here already because I was busking just before, but…uh…I don't think I'll be allowed to play it in here."

Arthur nodded, "Sure, sure. I was going to break for lunch soon anyway. Just let me get my things and we'll head off."

And so, once again, Arthur found himself feeling compelled to follow Alfred, although if he intended to go to McDonald's again then Arthur was putting his foot down. Luckily, it wasn't McDonald's they ended up at, but outside Arthur's front door. When they had reached the porch, Arthur had turned to Alfred and nodded.

"Alright then, play the song."

Alfred rubbed his neck and bit his lip, "I dunno, it would kinda be a public disturbance if I just went ahead and played out here. And some people may even think I'm serenading you or some shit. How about…how about I sing it to you inside your apartment?"

Arthur frowned. He'd prefer McDonald's any day to having a clumsy oaf bumbling around his flat. However, he did want to hear that song, and they'd already made it this far, so he sighed and begrudgingly turned to open the door and let them both in. He continued to grumble about everything and nothing as they made their way up the stairs and past multiple doors until they reached the door of Arthur's own flat. There the Briton hesitantly and slowly turned the key and unlocked the door with a click.

Arthur heard Alfred gasp behind him as they walked in and mutter, "Fancy." Arthur couldn't help but feel his chest swell with pride. He did do a lot to care for his home – hoovering the beige carpets all the time, for his Scottish fold cat, Crumpets, always managed to leave dirty paw prints around. The only reason Arthur put up with this and didn't get a colour darker than beige was so that the carpet would go well with the white walls, which had pieces of art, both colourful and dark, hanging upon them. Arthur had a thing for culture after all, and he found art to be a big part of it, along with books, which there were a lot of bursting from and piling on top of each other on his shelves. Classical books primarily, and he had classical music records stacked up beside his record player, and he would sip tea in his armchair and listen to them.

Arthur sat down in that same armchair and exhaled, "Alright, _now _impress me."

Alfred snapped out of being mesmerised by how organised Arthur's flat was, "Hmm, what?"

"Sing."

"Oh…oh, yeah!" Alfred snapped his fingers, as if just remembering why he was even there, and turned to unzip his carry case, pulling out a guitar adorned with a sticker of the American flag and his name, _Alfred_, painted onto the wood in red and blue.

_How patriotic_, Arthur thought as Alfred pulled the guitar strap around him and steadied it, pulling a guitar pick out of seemingly nowhere and readying it and his fingers at the strings.

Then he began to strum, slow and steady, and the vibrations of the repetitive chords resounded throughout the room, yet had a sense of quiet about them. It appeared that this was going to be a tender song of sorts, and Arthur wondered how Alfred would be inspired by him to write such a song. After a long, gentle instrumental opening, Alfred opened his mouth and began to sing.

_Oh, in the cold  
>I was lost.<br>I had nothing left to live for.  
>Tired and hopeless,<br>I longed for yesterday  
>And all I had given up on.<em>

_It seemed the trees didn't whisper for me,  
>And the grass didn't whistle and streams lacked a flow.<br>This restless rest failed tranquillity in me,  
>And a bright future was not for me to know.<em>

_And then there was your face,  
>An element of grace,<br>And all that I knew came to a close.  
>When the time came for goodbye,<br>I lifted my voice to the sky  
>And told of you the bright future to come.<em>

_Tomorrow, tomorrow;  
>Until then I'll drown in sorrow,<br>For I can't see your face  
>Before the morrow.<em>

_Tomorrow, tomorrow  
>The butterflies will burst forth,<br>And I'll stay beside you  
>And your beauty henceforth.<em>

As the instrumental came round again, Arthur found himself gawping, and quickly shut his mouth with his cheeks tinged pink. Alfred had a surprisingly good voice – gorgeous, even. He brought his song to life, with hints of bitterness in his baritone behind the overall feeling of hope bursting from the song. But more than in awe, Arthur was confused. Why would Alfred write a song with such feelings based on his experiences with an admittedly grumpy Briton?

_The sun may fall and the moon may rise,  
>The songbirds quieten and the owl cries<br>Echo on until the dawn, and then, I promise,_

_Tomorrow, tomorrow;  
>Until then I'll drown in sorrow,<br>For I can't see your face  
>Before the morrow.<em>

_Tomorrow, tomorrow  
>The butterflies will burst forth,<br>And I'll stay beside you  
>And your beauty henceforth.<em>

As another instrumental intervened, Arthur caught himself smiling, although he didn't try to hide it.

_In the dusk you seek solace,  
>And I find myself in despair.<br>It seems that you are horribly unaware  
>Of the things you say,<br>And the things you do,  
>And how they could differ<br>From me to you._

_But I shall persevere,  
>And please forgive my greed,<br>For your grace, though a want,  
>Is also a need.<br>So on nights when I am doubting  
>The suns eventual rise,<br>And the arms of dusk seem to never  
>Not embrace the endless skies,<em>

_I remind myself this notion,  
>And know it will come true,<br>And my past and present and future  
>Tie along to only you.<em>

_Tomorrow, tomorrow;  
>Until then I'll drown in sorrow,<br>For I can't see your face  
>Before the morrow.<em>

_Tomorrow, tomorrow  
>The butterflies will burst forth,<br>And I'll stay beside you  
>And your beauty henceforth.<em>

_And I'll stay beside you  
>And your beauty henceforth.<em>

A few more stings plucked, a few more chords played, and then the vibrations of the song faded out to a welcome silence. Silence, until Arthur piped up clapping; his eyes sparkled, as did his teeth as he flashed a crooked grin. Alfred stood up from being bent over the guitar, blushing, and bashfully rubbed the nape of his neck.

"So, did you like it?"

"It was actually rather lovely." Arthur nodded, still clapping, although only lightly now, "But I don't understand how such lovely lyrics could come from spending time with me."

Alfred shrugged, "Neither do I. B-but maybe if you let me write more songs based off inspiration from you then we can find out?"

Arthur stopped clapping now and narrowed his eyes, "Why do you need this inspiration so desperately?"

Alfred frowned and seemed to go sullen, "I've only been able to write a song about you so far, but that's better than absolutely nothing, because if I want to be a musician I have to have songs, right? If I don't make a revolutionary song soon then I'll probably go bankrupt. I'm struggling to pay rent, y'see, and I need this inspiration or else I won't just be busking on the streets anymore – I'll be living on them." he moved forward to get on his knee before the Briton, "Please, Arthur. You're my last hope."

Arthur looked into those sad, blue eyes and felt such sadness burdening his own shoulders. Was Alfred's situation really that bad? He was struggling, he said. Arthur didn't much like the sound of someone struggling, and he did his best to help them. An example of this is when he used to work as a volunteer for charities, until his studies started. Even now, when he had stopped being a volunteer, he felt prone to help those who needed the help. And this was a case of someone needing his help. Desperately, it seemed.

Besides, he daren't say it, but he would like to hear more songs and see what lyrics Alfred could sew together based on time spent with him. Nobody had ever written a song about him before so he supposed an, uh…acquaintanceship…or alliance…or whatever with this Alfred boy wouldn't be all that bad. He realised that his conclusion from before was wrong: he _wasn't _a waste of Alfred's time; and maybe Alfred wouldn't be a waste of his…

Oh, how he regretted meeting him in that coffee shop.

"Fine, I'll allow you to stalk me." Arthur sighed, and he would have gone on to decline that it was because he felt sorry for and wanted to help Alfred, but he got the wind knocked out of him when the American wrapped him up in a big bear hug, thanking him to the high heavens as he suffocated poor Arthur.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's notes: <strong> Did you avoid the song like I told you to? Okay, good. XD Anyway, this isn't my best chapter or anything, but it will get better (I hope) - I'm just trying to set everything up for our two lovebirds. ;D Heh. Despite how bad it is, I hope you liked it anyway. Also, sorry if they're out of character - I'm struggling in my desperation to finish this part and get to the good parts.  
>Also, I think that who Lily and Sesel are is rather obvious, but in case you didn't know:<br>Lily = Liechtenstein  
>Sesel = Seychelles<br>Critique is welcomed, comments are appreciated!  
>Thank you and enjoy!<p>

Disclaimer: Alfred (America), Arthur (England), Lily (Liechtenstein) and Sesel (Seychelles) belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

AnorexicWalrus~


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